… the end of all of this

Here is the end of all of this:
    most of us, one day,
    will lie in a room where the shadows grow,
    with memories crowded out by pain,
    knowing, only then,
    why we lit so many fires…
Just to keep these very shadows at bay.

Days we spend as interlocking cubes,
    silver and shiny, neat and trim,
    lost in the patterns of our illusions,
    pushing chaos beneath the surface;
    but look — down a hall you’ve already walked,
    there’s a bed and pillow you’re going to use…
And you’ll be joined to all the people who used it before

Symbols

I know the names
Of my patrilineal line
All the way back to 1650
My father
His father
His father’s father
And so forth

But while I have their DNA
Or genetic structure
Or blood
Or whatever today’s science says I have of theirs

To me, now, they’re mostly just
Symbols
Letters on a page
Runes from a bygone past

Except for my father who I knew
And my grandfather, who I’ve heard stories about

The rest?

While, in some ways, those are me
And my brother and my sister
Many are the ancestors that make up a person’s past

Too many to keep track of through time’s annals

Chances are, we’ve all been kings and queens
We’ve all been slaves and downtrodden
We’ve all lived in peace
And we’ve all died in war

But we may not see it

Because we cannot read

The symbols

Woods On Fire

(From an experience a friend of mine had many years ago. – Owen)

She sees the woods on fire all around,
She’s driving fast and running from the flame;
The forest is consumed in utter madness,
And if she is not quick, she’ll be the same

It’s both sides of the road, but she’ll keep fleeing
The swarming hatred of the burning hive —
She sees the woods on fire all around her,
But she’ll outrun it yet,
And she’ll
Survive

The Pride of Lucy

Lucy sat out in the sun
In cold and clear September;
She modeled for us her new life,
I always will remember

The pride she wore upon her face
As she soaked in the rays;
Not knowing pills and Crystal Head
Would soon cut short her days.

The pride of Lucy, young and full
Of beauty and its power;
The sharpened razor blades, so cold,
That hacked to death

The flower


 

(“The Pride of Lucy” – 12-27-2015)

The Lonely Night

The lonely night is never done;
It stretches on, in endless wake –
And closes in with memories
And dreams, beneath a constant ache

To walk upon the haunted earth,
To lie upon a sleepless bed,
To hope for nothing but the dark,
And pray that slumber’s just ahead –

But restless, rising up to go,
To walk out towards the waxing light –
These barren trees, they know the dark,
They’ve wrestled with the lonely night

The day will come – it always has –
But eyes will not be there to see:
The night will claim its prize at last,
The pride in you
The hope in me